STONE COLD HAVEN

So a few weeks ago while relaxing with some friends, I was asked to consider talking some sense into a dead beat dad – who for all intents and purposes, had left a poor girl at the traffic lights, literally holding the baby.

I guess I was only asked when it turned out that I actually went to high school with the said dead beat dad. You’ll be surprised how 6 degrees of separation can make the world smaller than it really seems.

I think we were talking about how kids change people’s lives – and one conversation too many ended up with the story of my former schoolmate. The said girl abandoned at the traffic lights is his ex-missus, so you can just picture where this conversation went short of wishing that she had actually been with us at the time.

I’ll plead the 5th amendment right here on going into the specific story of this couple for the simple reason that there’s a very high possibility that they will be directed to read this post.

I don’t consider myself a marriage counsellor, but for what it’s worth, I thought that this once, I’d provide a public service based on my experience and that of my peers. If it helps even one girl to make better choices in men – or convinces even one other guy to take care of responsibilities, then the post is most definitely worth my time.

It’s certainly easier than sitting down to talk sense to – you know who.

Girls, here’s 5 Stone Cold sure fire ways to identify a dead beat dad from a mile off.

1. Follow your instincts

God gave you instinct to protect you from the evil in this world. Use the damn instincts and save yourself from the world.

The best advice you can ever get is not to get yourself into certain situations especially when all your faculties are telling you that it’s plain madness. Your body is wired to be selective and to use any stimuli it can to detect what is inherently dangerous for you.

You have signs all over that only you choose to ignore – habits, what he says, what he does, the choices he makes, the risks he takes – even his scent gives you an indication about how dangerous the proposition is.

Let’s get one thing out of the way – you’re not going to totally avoid danger. There’s no such thing as zero risk. Everything you do is risky.

Even for a guy, looking at a girl’s ass is risky because it presents options not previously available. For a girl, the risks are different. I’m just saying listen to your instincts and minimize that risk.

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When chatting to a good friend on new year’s day, I asked how her daughter was, and at first, it seemed that the question had dampened her spirits.

“Darius, she’s in secondary school now”, was the subdued answer and it was quickly followed by a resigned “Dude – it’s official, we’re old”.

But even after we both cracked out laughing, the thought lingered and you begin to take stock. I guess that the main change in my life over the last several years is that some things have become more important than others and you tend to prioritize better and focus on what’s important. What hasn’t changed though is the ability for nostalgia to hit you hard enough to make you home sick especially with the sub zero temperatures and snow storms that box you in the house and makes you ask that dreaded “what am I really doing here” question.

It made me think of the good old days growing up and enjoying some of the simplest and most cherishable moments life will ever present.

Don’t know about some readers up in here, but there were times when 5 bob could take you a long long way back in the day. My dad used to give us 5 bob a day and that would cover bus fare to and from school, a soda and a snack of some sort (usually quarter bread bandika) for lunch, and you’d still have left over change to buy roast maize with pili pili or patcos to carry you through the evening.

Long before the advent of satellite TV with over 20 exclusive movie channels, local entertainment back then was fronted by public service open air movie services like Tazama Mobile Cinema pitched up in an open field once a month to bring to you the blockbuster of the day. They had this strange habit though, of commentating the movie as it went on in a manner that was as equally funny as it was annoying.

Speaking of entertainment, there were classic shows that would definitely be in my DVD collection right now – From Vioja Mahakamani and the comical antics of the residents of Matopeni, to Vitimbi and the real celebrities like Othorong’ong’o and Masanduku (forget all these latter day celebs who think they’re celebs because…well, anything makes you a celeb these days). There were shows like Tushauriane that were banned outright because they showed a couple embracing and the chap started unblousing the girl. Or even the days when we didn’t have mobile phones and you had to walk a kilometre to the nearest phone box where there was a massive queue of all manner of people – and you’d be mad when your ‘girlfriend to be’ plays hard to get and pulls that stunt of asking you to call later because she’s watching No One But You or The Rich Also Cry. The ungrateful heifer – after all those hours you’ve waited in line to make that call….LOL!

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“Dear God. All I ask you is to let me live for one more day, and I promise to do whatever you want. Just one more day and I promise I’ll never drink again. I don’t want to die like this”

That was my cousin JQ narrating to us his conversation with his God when he woke up in a sewerage gutter somewhere in Kayole estate. He doesn’t recall how he got there, but we all agreed it had to do with consuming copious amounts of alcohol, though the jury’s still out as to whether it was regulation booze or the kumi kumi variety from Mama Pima.

He vaguely remembers sounds of people and one or two cars passing by, but not much else apart from the realisation that he didn’t want to die. It sounds tragic, but his narration of this near death experience was too hilarious – and JQ was compelled to divulge all after he declined a routine 3rd round of booze as we sat outside a bar in Hurlingham some time back. JQ is not one to turn down a drink, but he was already uneasy about us being there. You see, he’s the sort of chap who’s conscience doesn’t tolerate paying a price for a beer that you can get cheaper elsewhere.

His protest was clearly visible each time the waiter brought a round of drinks and he quickly grabbed the bill before reminding us “majamaa, hizi pombe na weza sakanya 33 bob kule kwa mahindi” (Guys, I can hustle this booze for 33 bob in the maize plantations). At one point, he actually challenged the waiter to clarify whether the figure on the receipt was the actual bill or a phone number.

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Train journeys can be as much of a pain as they are comical. There are indeed some strange characters who frequent this mode of transport, and perhaps I should include myself in this category. My M.O is straight forward – get comfortable, hook on the IPOD and resurface when the announcement for my station blasts over the tanoi. I don’t blame anyone for considering this anti-social, but my defence is that it’s probably the most normal thing to do considering I didn’t get on a train to meet people and chin wag the way to my destination.

Sometimes you just want some quiet and some private head space to contemplate stuff. Usually, it’s taxi drivers who can’t get the concept of leaving a passenger alone wanting to eagerly chat to you about everything from the weather to the problems that immigrants are bringing to the beloved British isles. Every once in a while though, you’re forced to become a third party to a telephone conversation on the train that let’s face it, you really don’t want to be part of.

I took my seat across the table from a “quietish” young woman who was busy reading some magazine or something. Even when the conductor approached us for tickets, she was very soft spoken when responding and asking about something or the other. The hits started rolling when her phone violently vibrated on the table and started ringing.

I don’t know what it was that ticked me off instantly. Maybe it was the fact that she left it there wringing for what seemed to be ages so that we could hear the hideous song that was her ring tone, or the fact that it was so loud, I’m sure you could hear it from outside even if the diesel powered train swept past you at 120 miles an hour.

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If there’s one thing I envy about living back home, it’s the options available to any working family to get an affordable house help or maid, more popularly known as a mboch. Having a live in house help out here could easily cost you the better part of your salary after tax – and for most of us, we have to make do with tackling those oh so unwanted chores , come rain shine or snow.

You see, some of the most drama generating issues for any couple are the mundane things like who does what in the house from washing the toilets and changing diapers, to mowing the lawn and scrubbing the pots and pans. They say it’s the stuff relationships are made of, but in the same token, it’s most definitely the stuff drama is made of. Of course, it doesn’t help that you’re both probably busting a gut at work to make ends meet, and there’s a small matter of kids who might not see things as you see them when it comes to being reasonable.

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One thing that riles any boss, especially during times of economic hardship, is providing unnecessary concessions or time off to their most expensive resource, their staff. It’s the age old battle of an employer who tries to get the most out of an employee at the least possible cost, and an employee who is determined to get the most reward for the least amount of work.

I first came across this memo from an employer to his employee years and years ago, and hadn’t seen it again until this week – and thought it was still an excellent piece of diplomacy. I must remind myself to use it some time.

From: Team Leader

To: (Enter employee’s name here)

Subject: Your request for a day off work

Thank you for submitting a request for a day off work. I’m concerned though, that you haven’t looked at things from my point of view, so I think it’s important to examine what you’re asking for.

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You’d think that by this point in my life, I’d have mastered the art of shall we say, getting out of tight situations unscathed. I’m not talking about some closer shaves of a misspent youth that brought out the Hollywood stuntman you never thought was you.

You know them tight situations when a father comes home from work for lunch unexpectedly, and the biggest problem isn’t that his daughter hasn’t prepared lunch yet, or doesn’t look like she’s anywhere near preparing anything edible. The biggest problem is that you happen to be naked and firmly anchored in between his teenage daughter’s legs – and as he calls out for her, you’re traumatizing about whether to complete an exercise in coitus that is a justified reward for the time and effort that you’ve clearly invested your whole school holiday in, or jump out through the second floor bedroom window and take your chances with the unsuspecting neighbours who you’re about to grace, truth be told, with what you can find of your clothes in one hand, and if you’re not injured – trying to cover a rock hard penis with the other hand.

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I sometimes find myself in a zone where not much seems to happen – kind of like being stuck in traffic without much hope for movement. You know the general direction you’re heading in life, but there’s zilch you can do about the sheer pile up of a jam in front of you. Some folks prefer to call this state of affairs as being in limbo, but I prefer to think of it as downtime that I can justifiably take pleasure at doing absolutely nothing as I wait for the proverbial car in front to move a few notches.

This past “doing nothing” moment found me talking on the phone to an old pal who I keep in touch with once in a blue moon – and for some reason, we were lamenting about how our sons (who are roughly the same age) are growing up on a totally different planet from where we live. I guess before concluding that we were just a bunch of old geezers, we found ourselves reminiscing about the good ole days of growing up the hard way. Nostalgia does have this amazing habit of filling voids that seem annoying at best, and a recipe for procrastination at worst.

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